


The Absence of Desire

by orphan_account



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, the bathtub scene don't pretend you don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It wasn’t so difficult, really, to avoid wanting. He had so many other more important things to think about that hunger and thirst were the only desires he cared to satisfy – and he tried to keep those to a minimum too. But in Paris it was as if he had abruptly come back into his body after a long time away, a traveler returning to a home that was familiar and unfamiliar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this came about because of a very interesting conversation about the bath scene in crossroads, after which the lovely [trailsofpaper](http://trailsofpaper.tumblr.com/) and i decided it was absolutely necessary to discuss what happened once the camera cut away. [the gorgeous and nsfw artwork](http://trailsofpaper.tumblr.com/post/157769037478/for-pineapplecrushface-s-fic-the-absence-of) that followed, as always, was inspirational!

He had tried, with great success, to want nothing. It was one of the principles he’d been quietly developing since back in his OCS days, wanting nothing, expecting anything. Nix liked the idea and told him he’d make a great Buddhist, but could not be prevailed upon to try it. “I like to want things,” he said with a little amused look that wasn’t quite a smile.

It wasn’t so difficult, really, to avoid wanting. He had so many other more important things to think about that hunger and thirst were the only desires he cared to satisfy – and he tried to keep those to a minimum too. But in Paris it was as if he had abruptly come back into his body after a long time away, a traveler returning to a home that was familiar and unfamiliar. There were so many people in Paris. Everyone was going about their day like there was no war and they had all just happened to come to Paris and celebrate in their uniforms at the same time. In the span of half an hour in the crowd he had touched and been touched by more people than in the last few years. Only Nix ever really put hands on him. Harry patted him on the back and nudged him when something was funny, but Nix gave him small unasked for encouragements. Sometimes Dick thought Nix was talking to him through touch: a hand on his back when Sink said something that irritated him, a squeeze of the tight area where his neck met his shoulder when he’d been at his desk for hours, a laughing pinch to the side to make him startle when he was too quiet.

He shook himself, annoyed that he was thinking of Nix while he was supposed to be taking in the sights. Or whatever the point of his trip to Paris was, really. He was having a hard time understanding that he was really present despite the assault on his unaccustomed senses. The metal of the table under his hand, the yodeling laughter of the man behind him, the hot coffee bitter on his tongue, the chilly air on his skin. He wanted, with a strength that bothered him, to have Nix there with him, even if all he did was make fun of wide-eyed farm boys the entire time. Nix, warm and familiar, might dispel this feeling of unreality and over-reality at once. He wondered for a moment how Nix was faring in Aldbourne before his mind glanced away from the topic. What Nix did in Aldbourne was none of his business and he’d be all the better for not knowing. Not wanting to know.

In his hotel room he felt more real. The hotel maid had left him a bottle of champagne and he wanted to tell her no thank you, to please take it away because he couldn’t celebrate yet and – well, because it reminded him of Nix again. Desperate to distract himself, his eyes fell on the bathtub and the want – the realization that he had a body and that there were things in this world that felt good – fell upon him again. The people who had pressed in too close all day, the ashy feeling of the air in Paris, the fact that he hadn’t done more than run a wet washcloth over himself for months, all conspired to make him realize he was grimy under his uniform and he hadn’t noticed until now when he suddenly _wanted_ – the mundane and yet now outrageous pleasure of a hot bath. How long had it been? He tried never to calculate these kinds of things because they led to a longing that was much harder to suppress, but found himself thinking of it anyway. It was before OCS, certainly. What had he felt during the last time he had bathed? He was not a man who was likely to take it for granted, but perhaps he had anyway, just a little. He might have assumed there would be another in his future and that he didn’t have to pay attention quite as closely to the steam rising from the water in a cold room, the anticipatory shiver as he peeled off his clothes. And it was peeling rather than simply removing clothes; now that he was confronted with the prospect of being truly clean, he could appreciate how uncomfortable he was. It was a bad move. He’d want this bath again, dream about it. Going back to the line would be much harder when he had the memory of hot water and soap so close to him. _You’re as fussy as a cat_ , Nix had said about him early on. _Can’t stand not grooming yourself, can you?_ Dick pointed out, _But I like the water_ , and Nix waved his hand. _I had a cat once who’d go swimming with us. You’re just like him – big quiet ginger cat._

Sliding into the hot water was one of the finest things he’d ever felt or ever would feel, he was sure of it. For a moment he was only his body and thought of nothing, only gave himself over to the sensation of goosebumps rising on his arms, the tingle in his scalp, the wash of heat. The porcelain was cold under his forearms and the one foot that was propped near the faucet, and he shuddered a little before he tucked both arms against his sides to get as much warmth as possible. For several minutes he closed his eyes and enjoyed it, and after that he opened them again and stared at the high, peeling ceiling of the room, his thoughts drifting and everything but his eyes and nose submerged. When he surfaced again he became aware that his skin was buzzing from the contrast between the cold air and the hot water, and that there was a pleasant tightening between his legs – familiar and unfamiliar again.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. If it had been months since he’d had anything more than a sponge bath, it had been much longer than that since he’d touched himself. There was no time, no space, no privacy, no inclination. And even if he had had any of those things, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit whatever he was using as a pillow. He remembered one incident directly after the siege on Brécourt Manor, after he’d gotten a few hours of sleep. It might have been leftover adrenaline or it might have been – anything else. He’d awakened so hard that he knew he couldn’t ignore it, desperate, his palm already sliding over his cock through his pants. And he’d gotten off exactly like that, with Nix asleep behind him, his breath on the back of Dick’s neck, rubbing the heel of his palm slowly over the head of his cock and trying to be silent and completely still. Despite the fact that he could barely move, he finished so fast and it felt so good that it really shook him – he stayed awake and pushed himself through a second orgasm, and then fell asleep hard. That was the last time he’d done it. He knew it happened sometimes in his sleep and couldn’t find the energy to care. It simply wasn’t a priority.

But now, with every part of him drowsy with pleasure, it was very much a priority. And yet it somehow felt a little more dangerous than the last time, which made no sense at all. He was alone, not sacked out on the ground with Nix so close to him that his knees were pressing into the back of Dick’s. But he felt like he was going to be found out, or like he was being watched – by whom, he wasn’t sure, but the moment he thought it a thrill went through him.

His hand was calloused, and he liked it that way. It was nothing new, the fact that he wanted a firm rough hand. Maybe he didn’t like to think about why that was so, but it seemed silly to ignore or deny it. He went mindless for a little bit, enjoying the pull of his hand and the way everything in him tensed up in pleasure. It was going to be quick and he could tell it was going to knock him out; there was a deep wonderful ache that he remembered from other times when he’d gone too long without getting any release. The water moved with him and he realized he was already pushing up into his hand, trying not to splash too much but not really caring if he did.

Nix’s hand would be smoother. The thought slid into his mind without any surprise at all. He gasped at the image that came with it: Nix pushing his hand away and taking him in his own elegant fingers. He could see it quite clearly and didn’t waste any time wishing he couldn’t, just let himself go. Nix, hovering above him fully clothed, leaning over the edge of the tub and teasing him, smiling down at him with that particular mixture of amusement and tenderness. _I think you’ve been holding out on me_ , he’d say. _Let’s get you taken care of_. And his hands would be skilled and sure, the hands Dick always watched when he was smoking, when he was writing, when he was tracing the sides of a bottle absentmindedly, when he was grabbing Dick’s own hand and turning it over and saying triumphantly _I knew you got a splinter from that, you stubborn asshole_. Dick realized his breath was shuddering in and out, mouth open, and thought of how he’d look if Nix were watching him. Desperate – he’d look desperate. And Dick wanted that, he wanted Nix to know the truth about him: that more than anything he wanted Nix to tell him what to do and watch him fall apart because of it. Nix would know exactly what he needed and how to give it to him. He always did. He would say gently _open your eyes, Dick, watch what I’m doing to you_ , and he’d be embarrassed but he’d do it anyway because Nix wanted him to. He’d watch Nix’s hand on him, tight, giving him what he needed because Nix knew him, Nix knew him so well, nobody knew him like Nix did–

And with that he was over the edge with a startled cry, rocking his hips up hard enough to splash water over the sides of the tub. He spilled hotly over his fingers and imagined they were Nix’s instead to prolong the dream and the feeling, until he was left shaking with relief and emotion that, once let out of his restraints, was too big for him to handle.

He sat up and drained the tub, then filled it again and actually washed himself, feeling so loose-limbed and exhausted that he was barely able to dry off before he dropped into the bed, into a beautiful dreamless sleep.

*

“You know,” Nix said when they were standing around one of the gasoline fires, warming their hands and waiting for orders, “I never got to ask you how Paris was. Did you get some culture?”

Dick shrugged. “Enough, I guess.”

Nix gave a low laugh. “I worked hard to get you that pass, so I hope it’s more than enough.”

“That was nice of you, Nix,” he said, surprised.

“I almost went with you.” Nix gave up trying to warm his hands and grabbed Dick’s, rubbing them together. “Changed my mind at the last second. I figured you might want to be free of my company for a while anyway.”

“I’d have rather had you with me, to be honest,” he said, shivering as Nix pushed his sleeves up and rubbed his arms. “Did you have a good time in Aldbourne?”

Nix was quiet for a moment and they both watched his breath fog the air. “I guess I’d rather have been in Paris too,” he said. “We’ll go back. You and me.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

Nix gave him a slow smile, and squeezed his arm. “You’re damn right we will.”


End file.
